Livingston's Conversation

Really quick disclaimer: I wrote this about a year and a half ago after coming back from the "One Thing" conference in Sacramento which was put on by the Kansas City House of Prayer. That's why so many lines sound cheezy: they are lines from the worship songs we sang that night, and this story was running through my head as I sang them.

The door creaked slightly; maintenance would soon be down to fix it. Nothing was ever broken here, not for long at least. Plush carpet made the footprint of boots deep and silent, resembling the atmosphere of the entire building, though the intricate design of its ceiling could not be distinguished because it was so lofted. That also reflected the attitude of this place: removed; not due to its worth, but due to its proportioned commentaries on how the world should be more like it.

It was just a building, yet Livingston’s knuckles still grew a lighter shade as they gripped the brass bar of the glass doorway. Set against a background of opulent wealth, his attire was anything but fitting. He wore dirty and saw-dust flecked jeans, with a threadbare plaid complete with oil stains. His boots left a clear mark of where he’d treaded, and the mud, attempting to set its self on the red carpet seemed to be rejected even by the floor.

An elderly man, thin with patience to match, gazed at Livingston as though he could not cross the entry way fast enough. It was a large entryway, full of sculptures and painting, and though Livingston could have spent half a day enjoying them, it was clear the other man had far too many more important things to do than appreciate art, and Livingston was losing hope that he would be appreciated as well.

He hurried over to the counter, and with his arms folded across the marble, leaned a little forward.

“Hello. My name is Livingston, um, I am here to see Aaron?” Though he hadn’t meant it to, it came out more like a question than a statement. For all the speeches he’d rehearsed, the atmosphere of the place bore down on him relentlessly.

“There are many named ‘Aaron’,” the man’s voice reminded Livingston of a desert that was in much need for rain, though for all the outward signs of impatience he spoke rather slowly. “If it is the Aaron you seek, only a fool would try to approach him in such apparel and without appointment –I assume someone as shoddy as yourself left your decency and responsibility with your clean clothing?”

Sharp eyes pierced Livingston from above bi-focal glasses and below a crinkled brow with upturned eyebrows, like a school teacher after rebuking the same child for the zillionth time that day. Whatever hope had existed before speaking to the receptionist was engulfed in the pitiless tone the conversation had turned to, and now Livingston’s speech turned more towards desperation.

“Sir, please, listen. You’re right. I should have come more prepared, but the news I have for him can’t wait. He really needs to hear this!”

The piercing eyes didn’t falter, and Livingston was hoping the man would at least blink once or twice. The only change in the man, the only muscle that moved was to swallow a little spittle that had accumulated in his mouth. Apparently that was worth more attention than this construction worker claiming intelligence.

“Yes, well, had you any intelligence I would assume you knew there were better ways of getting him information than running in here like a madman.” He raised a hand to silence Livingston when he saw that he was going to protest. Livingston never ran, and he had barely lifted his voice. Continuing, and completely confident that his appraisal of Livingston was correct, the man said, “There can’t be anyone to just walk in and see him. He’s got quite a bit to do (as well as I), and if just one person were let in, then pretty soon the whole town would be beating down these doors –and staining my carpet.” The hawk eyes shot to the mud, still struggling to find a home in the carpet, then back to Livingston as though he were waiting for the guest to immediately begin shampooing the carpet in penance.

As Livingston opened his mouth, the old man waved him silent and dropped a stack of papers on the counter.

“Fill these out. Processing will be sure to give you a call within 6 weeks, notifying you about whether or not you’ll be able to see Aaron. Though I doubt it, he’s got a lot of responsibility, you know.” This line was crisp, quick, and well practiced. With that, the man looked down and resumed what he was doing before the dreadful interruption (which was nothing more than staring at the back of the counter for all Livingston could tell), and completely ignored Livingston, even when he tried to begin another feeble conversation.

In a sigh of disgust, Livingston grabbed the papers and smacked them against the edge of the marble as he turned and followed his own tracks back out the door. The receptionist made no sign he saw or cared, only that he made a quick call to House Keeping to have that carpet cleaned immediately.

The traffic was bad, and everyone seemed to be in a grumpy mood as the smog kept its slow siege against the lungs of the pedestrians. Every square inch of the city was occupied by someone, either walking too busily to acknowledge anyone’s presence or working themselves to death simply trying to survive the day. Livingston was one of the lucky few who had a car, even though it was nearly fifty years old. The streets swelled and fell with people and their stench; mist rose from the storm drains, and the reek of half-kept sewage permeated everything. Honking horns, shouts, and angry slaps against his car greeting him as he made his way from the palace.

On one street corner was a young boy without shoes holding a newspaper high over his head. The headline may as well have read, “BUY ME, ELSE THIS CHILD DIE.” On the opposite corner, a girl in her mid-twenties looked as though death had taken her about the neck, knocked her up, then left her to the cruel tortures of equally selfish men. Her clothing made no attempt to conceal her profession, for it hardly concealed anything. As Livingston glanced between the two, his heart broke as he realized they were of the same value. Newspaper or girl: just depends on your mood in this city. A small cry in him wanted to buy a paper and coffee; one from the boy, and one for the girl, but his agitation against the receptionist still burned, and he became too absorbed in nursing his own wound to worry about another’s.

Suddenly, between the self-pity, anger, and difficulties of traffic, his car sagged under the weight of a passenger. Startled, Livingston turned and began shouting at the man at the top of his lungs. Slapping his wheel and honking his horn, Livingston’s agitation grew. No one cared, no one noticed. It took him several minutes of threatening and cursing before he realized his unwelcome guest was only sitting, hands at his side, and listening. After a few more moments, the best Livingston could defend himself with was a curious glance at the new arrival, not knowing how else to proceed. In that time he noticed more features about his co-pilot.

It was immediately clear that the passenger was no native of the city: his skin was smooth, but tough; his eyes gentle and stern; as though he had commanded armies and yet watched life born and die in his hands. His clothing was nothing special, as though he had bought it at a local kiosk to try to conceal his obvious misplacement. Though he was square and muscular, he was not intimidating, and yet Livingston sensed that he feared the passenger.

“Where are you going?” The passenger asked with a deep, smooth voice. His tone made it clear that he was only curious, and it helped that his entire frame was casual.

“Home.” Livingston still feared saying too much, or anything at all.

The man just nodded, and stared straight ahead.

“The door was locked.”

“Oh? Sorry. Perhaps I should have made an appointment.” The guest was trying to make a joke, but Livingston was too busy licking his wounds to get it and too confused at the mere character and purpose of the man beside him.

After a few more blocks of silence the man just said, “You missed it.”

Even more puzzled now, Livingston asked, “Missed what?”

“Well, you’re home, of course!” A radiant smile beamed from the passenger, as though Livingston was supposed to know what he was talking about.

“I live no where around here.”

“What you mean is that you have no home. You haven’t since your parents left the country.”

Swerving through traffic and turning into the next alley Livingston stopped the car hard enough to leave a black streak on the pavement behind him. The smell of burned rubber sought to overcome the other oppressive smells of the city. Infuriated, Livingston turned and faced his passenger full on. In the meantime, his co-pilot had grabbed onto the dash to stabilize himself through the fiasco of desperate driving.

“On what grounds do you say this?” Livingston demanded.

His even more unwelcome guest only smiled. After they had stared at each other, Livingston scowled, the passenger smiled, and the man said, “Where were you before I joined you?”

“No, no. I am not answering to someone I don’t know. I’ll do the asking.” Livingston gave the man a hard look. “What were you doing before you barged into my vehicle? What do you want? How do you know about me? Answer me, or leave me. I’ve had enough of a day, thank you.”

Never leaving off his smiling, the man said, “Now you are beginning to remind me of the receptionist: too caught up in his own life to realize something good when it comes his way.”

“Good things down break into people’s cars,” Livingston scoffed, “And they usually aren’t so mysterious. I still want my questions answered and I still want to go home,” the man raised his eyebrows, “–yes, home.” Livingston ended with all the confidence he could muster, though had he less confusion he’d have been piqued at how the man could have known about the encounter with the receptionist.

“I didn’t break in, if that is what is bothering you.”

“You’re outrageous,” for the first time Livingston looked away, then back at his passenger, “What do you mean, you didn’t break in? Surely you can at least answer that!”

“You were looking for me, right? I love it when people seek me, so I make a point to make sure they find me.” Livingston could scream with confusion at this point, but the man continued patiently, never letting a broad smile far from his face, “So now I’m here. What did you want to tell me so badly a few minutes ago? Has your self-pity allowed you so quickly to forget what you desired to share?”

“Who are you??” The exasperation could not be more obvious in Livingston’s voice, and he slapped his hand down on the steering wheel and threw his back against his seat, about ready to cry.

“Well, I am Aaron. I came to you, because you sought me. You wanted to share with me, and Livingston, I have so much to share with you!”

“Now I know you are crazy!” Livingston’s body began to rack, though with laughter or tears was still unclear. “I have seen the place where people say Aaron lives, and you are nothing like it. That stupid receptionist would have thrown you out too!”

As Livingston glanced over to his guest, he saw the man’s eyes fill with a deep sorrow.

“As for Jimmy’s treatment of you, I am sorry. Know also that he has dealt with me as severely, though he didn’t even recognize me, as you have said.” A deep sigh came from the depths of him, and for a second Livingston feared the airbag would be sucked into the sigh, it was so powerful and true. “Alas, what was once used to spread wealth has now been perverted to hoard it. Please don’t blame them.” Now the man’s eyes pleaded with Livingston, tugging at his heart with a stronger current than the spring tide. “Their only fault is that they stopped listening to me. They chose some of what I said because they felt good about it, then changed it just a little so it made sure they stayed comfortable. But they can still listen!” The guest got excited for a moment, then sagged slightly, “But they have to choose it. I have served them in every way, to the very fiber of my life, and still they do not choose to listen.” Then he brightened again, even more than the first, and with it the biggest smile of all spread across his face, “But you were seeking me! You wanted to see me! You wanted to share with me, and you have been listening. Tell me, please, what is it you came for?”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Livingston idly picked at the steering wheel, not wanting to fess up to his initial intentions. So much had changed in so little time. He still wasn’t sure whether or not to trust this nut who claimed to be the Aaron.

“Is it because I don’t look as you expected?” In the man’s eyes were mixed pride and hurt. “Am I too lowly to share you dreams with? Or are your dreams not humble enough to serve me? Had you sought to glorify yourself before me, man who has no home?”

“What home do you have?” Was the best Livingston could throw back, and he flung it with all his might, for he felt himself caving into the man.

Spreading his arms wide, the man said, “This. This is my home. Look about: you saw the palace, the boy, the prostitute. They are my family; with them I am home if they welcome me as family. Yes, if they welcome me as their father.” Another smile flashed across his face, “With you I am home, and you’re home with me if you choose it. I have already chosen you, do you choose me?”

Livingston stared long and hard, body tensed, hoping that at any moment the man would burst into laughter and call it all a sour joke, but the smile never faded, and his gaze never faltered.

“I had sought Aaron,” Livingston began, “To pledge myself into his service.” Pride crept into his speech as his began to remember what he had initially planned to say, though in a completely different environment, and now it seemed a little shallow sitting here in the car with this giddy but stable man, claiming to be Aaron. Still he trudged on, “I have much skill with my hands and my mind. I can be an asset through these trying times. I will prove myself more able than any of your most trusted guard.” A sober throb fell across his eyes, “I have fought and killed, and I will also for Aaron.”

“Why?” was the only response.

Carried away as he remembered his former glory, he continued, “There must be more than this,” he pointed to everything outside the car, stained and grimy. “Only life can satisfy, and it cannot be found here on the streets.” He looked questioningly at the man who was still composed as if they were having tea, and for the first time made himself vulnerable. “How do I get it?”

For the first time without a smile, the man replied.

“Die, and only in death can life be birthed. Only after pain can a mother hold her child.”

Nodding slowly, Livingston realized how serious the man must be, and he decided the man was either completely out of his mind or completely truthful. Since his only alternative was to throw the man out and resume his already miserable life, he chose to indulge the crazy man, though he was beginning to believe him more and more, with every word.

“Have your way, so I may have life.”

“If I have my way, you will have nothing: I will have everything.”

“Are you so selfish?” Anger began to rise again.

Aaron shook his head slowly, and locked eyes with Livingston. Now, he knew, was the moment of truth.

“No. I am so worthy.”

With Livingston’s next words, Aaron’s heart erupted with joy, and he knew that Livingston believed. It had come about, just as he thought.

“Then let your glory fall.” Livingston’s voice grew fierce and pleading. “Consuming fire, fan into flame a passion for your Name.” Livingston had heard all the words, memorized all the dogma and clichés, but only now as he looked with new eyes on Aaron, did he realize the depth of implication these words had. For the first time the thought that Aaron may really consume him crossed his mind.

“Is this your desire?”

“I desire life to fall in this place, this city; I desire your seal on my heart to be stronger than the grave.” His past had taught him such allegiance, and now that he had discovered Aaron, he knew that only Aaron could offer such a claim as truth.

“Is this so? Have you ever been despised by your parents?”

“No, but they would applaud me for serving you.” Confusion again was a friend of Livingston, and his brow furrowed. This conversation was nothing as he’d imagined. Every time he thought he understood Aaron, Aaron revealed more of himself. Either Livingston was being toyed with, or Aaron knew that too much revelation would suffocate Livingston, so he proceeded as quickly as Livingston’s faith grew.

“Perhaps for serving me they would applaud you, but that’s not what I am asking you to do. I am asking you to die, and for that they would ridicule and shame you. All you love, all you have built, will be destroyed for it cannot contend with the greatness of my Name. Not only will you die, but all that you hate and all that hates you will come and dance upon your grave. When they find that you have been given life through my death (yes, I have already gone through that ordeal. You won’t ever do something I haven’t already), they shall raise the world against you. Every pebble with seek to fell you; crush you as if it were a mountain. Every dawn will seek to blister your skin. But as I have made all these and called you by name, so shall my Name sustain you.”

Livingston’s paradigm had been destroyed in the past minute. His only reply, which came from his past training again was only, “I will fight this evil for your Name sake.”

“Are you still so dead?” Aaron asked, not in hurt but in seeking Livingston to understand more truth about both of them. “You cannot do anything. You’re dead, remember. Operate in my life, then you will see things you never could have hoped or imagined. Evil? It has been crushed; evil has been defeated. All that remains to Evil is a portion of time. With it, all Evil can do is try to blind the world to my light. Will you inflict a wound against my enemy? Have compassion on whom I love.” His eyes moved from Livingston to outside the car, where throngs of people still milled aimlessly and desperately. “By my strength remove their blindness.”

With a confident nod, and feeling that he had been given a mission, Livingston said, “Every breath I take, every moment of my life –or is it death?—have your way in me.”

“So be it.” Aaron’s eyes returned to Livingston’s. “As for life or death, there is only life in me, though through that same blindness the world would consider you as dead, and so must you consider the world, and yourself to it.”

Now Aaron’s smile was so expansive, Livingston had to look away.

“Why do you smile so?”

“Because my love for you is deeper than the foundations of the world. In fact, it was my love for you which laid these foundations.”

“Do you then find a perverse humor in our suffering?” Livingston could not make sense of this man, and he was questioning what madness had allowed himself to swear allegiance to this passenger.

“On the contrary. There is no greater pain I feel than the incessant rejection of my own people. They suffer by their own choice; by their rejection of healing they are simultaneously choosing illness.” A look of sorrow great enough to make the mountains weep overwhelmed Aaron.

Now Livingston did begin to weep, there was no question. Aaron also joined in, and the two grown men sat there in the alleyway, surrounded by the mob of the unfeeling, weeping over them. It was a long while before the tears dried on Livingston’s face, and when they did, he turned again to Aaron.

“I have to know what you are thinking and what you are feeling!”

Through his own tears, a smile alighted on Aaron’s lips, “Why?”

“I am after your heart! I am after you!” The dichotomy of Aaron’s wisdom and emotion baffled Livingston, but he knew he wanted more.

“What are you feeling?”

Aaron’s question caught Livingston off guard, and he was silent for a while as he pondered the dark and cluttered crevasse of his heart. After stoking his chin and pursing his lips in silence, Livingston replied, “Torn; broken. As if I have misplaced something and I haven’t found it.”

The smile on Aaron’s face was that of a friend who sympathized with the struggle of another, having themselves gone through it.

“Close.” He sighed, “The truth –do you seek it?” Livingston nodded. “The truth is, they have misplaced me and they haven’t found me yet. This is the greatest victory of blindness. And my heart you seek is broken over it.

“Find me, find pain. Ask for my seal, ask for your death.” He sat a little more upright, “But my passion is greater; my power unhindered by death. In fact, in death I am not dead but just as I created life, so life can never be apart from me.

“You spoke earlier of desiring my seal on your heart stronger than the grave. To prove strength, you must face your opponent. Do you desire your death? My seal is greater than life, and with it your self will not be able to exist. I will consume, destroy, transform. My fire is fierce and all consuming. But as it consumes you, so also will it fuel you, so you can lead others to me.

“If you seek my knowledge, know I have called you to suffer. Pain shall be your companion, rejection your bedmate. With a parched throat will you declare my glory; with an empty stomach will you feed the nations my compassion. Your feet will weary with wandering, for no home shall you have this side of death. As the fearful and the hypocritical are mocked for claiming me as a crutch, so shall my courage and persistence be your iron lung. Though the world be thrown against you, you shall not escape my presence. I will carry, guide, feed, and heal you.

“Know this lastly: Just as my life is more poignant than death, so is my wrath more terrible. By swearing yourself to me, my spirit will take you, mangle you, and drop you in misery as the world would call it. Your flesh shall be tried and twisted until you have nothing to offer but me. And what shall be your response?” Deep, unfathomable yet welcoming eyes held Livingston transfixed. His response came out of the deepest part of him, as though only the penetrating eyes of Aaron could have delved it.
“To declare your glory until you take the breath from my nostrils.”
The extravagant smile of Aaron was only offset by the grave expression of Livingston.
“Then let us begin.”

“I give nothing, only Christ. Even in that I often fail. The battle for my soul is still fierce, the enemy is stubborn, and I am oft my own traitor. Yet, a day is coming (and this with all confidence) when Christ will be all that remains, and He shall be all I can give, for He will be all I have. In that moment I shall not fail; in that moment I shall gaze upon His face for eternity. In that moment I will be complete; I will be home.”